Like Hamlet
by Emma-G
Summary: Everyone dies. Morpheus and Niobe have to pick up the pieces.


A/N ands irritated ranty thing: I was one of the first at my school to see Revolutions. I go to school the next day:

Other person: So how was the movie?  
Me: Like Hamlet.

Other person: How's that again?

Me: Everybody dies.

Other person: Well, don't tell me! I haven't seen it yet, you'll spoil it!

Me: Then why did you ask?

Grr.. 

Disclaimer: Let's see… I don't own any of this. All things in this fic belong to the Wachowskis (Noo! You can't end it like that!) and WB.

The poem is the ending of "Over the Range" by Banjo Paterson, who was absolutely brilliant. Kudos to him.

Like Hamlet

Morpheus hadn't wanted her to come, but Niobe had more or less insisted. She was determined not to let him do this on his own. So they had taken one of the smaller repair vessels and flown away.

The coordinates the machines had given them were not far. Much closer than the machine city. Niobe suspected that was deliberate - they wouldn't want anybody else to come anywhere near them, not after the havoc Neo had wreaked. Reportedly.

It was a squat building, close to the ground. Power lines ran in and out of it. Nothing seemed to be moving around it, but when Morpheus shut down the engines, they could hear a soft hum emanating from the structure.

Niobe unbuckled her harness and turned to Morpheus. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked softly. She could see the lines etched deeply into his face. He hadn't given up.

He looked away from her, taking a deep breath. "I have to see, Niobe. I have to do this for them. My last children."

She nodded. He had hoped, she knew, had nearly driven himself mad with hope, until the day the machines 'regretted to inform' them that their 'preliminary ambassadors' were both dead. Morpheus had calmly locked himself in his cabin that day, and had not been seen for the following week. It was only by dint of much banging on his door and shouting that she had been able to communicate to him the machine's next message - if they wanted 'the remains', they were welcome to them.

So here they were.

The door swung open at a touch, revealing a dark space within. Morpheus was shaking as he switched on his flashlight. The interior was cold, and the flashlights seemed pitifully dim, but it was enough to pick out two shapes on the floor. He swallowed hard and looked away, and Niobe reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently until he opened his eyes and nodded, tears rolling down his face.

"You don't have to do this, Morpheus."

"I do. I do have to. I can't leave them here."

They slowly moved over, and as the first body came fully into the light, Niobe bit her lip to stifle a gasp at the sight of Neo's ruined face. Perfectly preserved by the cold or the technology of the machines, his raw, burned out eyes were hideous. He lay spreadeagled on his back, mouth slightly open, head lolling towards the door, and otherwise looked unharmed.

Trinity had been dropped on the floor right beside him. She was curled up just beneath his arm, on her side, facing away from the door. All they could see of her was fine, straggling black hair, and several large, gaping exit wounds on her tattered grey back, blood smears frozen.

Niobe carefully stepped around them to Trinity's side, while Morpheus went to his knees beside Neo. Trinity's face was perfect, untouched, her lovely features smooth and composed, at odds with her torn, destroyed body. Niobe carefully began to pull at the body, separating her from Neo to wrap her up, but Morpheus stopped her with a touch.

"No," he whispered. "Together."

Niobe nodded and carefully straightened out Trinity to her lay beside Neo, pressing them together. Working quickly, they wrapped the lovers in blankets. Morpheus was crying openly now, stopping occasionally to wipe his face on his sleeve.

The carried them back into the dinky little unnamed repair ship. Once in the cockpit, with Neo and Trinity stowed in the rear compartment, Morpheus sat down on the floor and cried. Niobe sank to her knees beside him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, whispering ineffectual comforts.

After a time, he drew a deep breath, sobs subsiding, and leaned against her.

They stayed like that for a long moment before he spoke. "She was my baby," he whispered, his voice harsh from crying.

She rubbed his back. "I know."

"Did I ever tell you about how I first found her?' he asked. 

She shook her head. "No, I was still in school then."

"I was some dumb kid. Nineteen, my first cruise out. The quickest way to the hardline was straight through an apartment in the bad part of town. There was this asshole beating up on his kid."

"Trinity," murmured Niobe, shifting to a more comfortable position. This floor was really not designed for kneeling on.

"Yeah. Do you know how old she was?" 

Niobe tried to calculate. "Three?"

"Four. She was just this tiny little thing with white-blonde hair and huge blue eyes."

"Wait. Trinity had white hair?"

"It got darker as she got older. Always kind of made me sad," he whispered, burying his face in her shoulder. She tightened her hold on him.

"So you pulled her out.'

"Yep."

"Bet they gave you a heap for that."

"Yep."

"Bet they're eating their words now," she whispered hoarsely.

"Yep," he managed, before breaking down again.

"My girl," he whispered between sobs. "My little baby."

Niobe sensed suddenly, how deep this wound went for him. He had built his life around his quest for the One, and in doing so had surrounded himself with a family, his children. Now the One was dead, his family stolen from him, his dearest daughter lying cold in the rear compartment. All dead. All gone. He had nothing left. He had fought, all his life, and now he had nothing left to fight for, nothing left to find. He was lost, adrift in a sea of grief.

She felt the tears streaming down her own face, and she kissed the top of his head and held him as tight as she dared, rocking back and forth, searching for the words to make it better, to make his pain fade, but the words didn't come.

So she just held him as his sobs grew more intense, and all she could think of was a fragment of poetry, and she whispered it to him. "But we know that God has this gift in store: that when we come to the final change, we shall meet with our loved ones gone before, in the beautiful country over the range."

In the endless dark and cold, the two grieving captains held each other tight.

A/N: Okay, that hasn't really turned out the way I wanted. It was better than this in my head… I'll work on it, and make it better, I promise. Constructive crit is very helpful in this area, because I have an irritating tendency to become morbidly attached to my own overblown prose and need to be talked out of it.


End file.
